


Keep Out the Chill

by clotpoleofthelord (plantainleaf)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 20:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/957424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/clotpoleofthelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The bunker's heat is out. How's a former angel to keep warm on a winter night?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Out the Chill

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely beta Lily as always, for both the beta AND the title!

It's cold in the bunker.

Whatever technology or witchcraft or whatever it is that usually keeps the climate at a comfortable 72 degrees regardless of the weather outside must be malfunctioning, but Dean's not quite cold enough to go try and solve it at three in the morning.

So instead he's lying in bed, shivering under every blanket he could find, watching the clock tick from one number to the next.

He’s stared through about an hour and a half of ticking when there’s a squeak from the hallway outside and he sits bolt upright, blankets falling into his lap as adrenaline floods his system. He waits one minute, two, a third, but there’s no further noises. He settles back down slowly, wrapping the largest quilt around his shoulders and shivering as the now-cold blankets drape over him. _Must have been the floorboards creaking in the cold or something,_ he thinks as he closes his eyes.

He’s just gotten back to being warm enough to shiver only occasionally -- instead of his teeth chattering hard enough to nearly bite off his tongue -- when he hears it again. This time he sits up slowly, keeping the blanket around his shoulders and sliding out of the bed into the slippers he’s left at the edge of the carpet. He tightens the quilt around him, trying to leave no gaps for the chill except for the one for the arm that’s holding the demon killing knife. He thinks about pulling that hand in, but decides he’s not quite cold enough to give up the few seconds it would take to fight it back out if whatever’s in the hallway turns out to be malicious.

He shuffles silently towards the door, navigating the room without any trouble. When they’d moved into the bunker Sam had been surprised to discover that Dean’s actually not at all messy; once he had his own space, both his bedroom and the kitchen remained spotless with everything in its place.

Dean smirks a little at the thought of Sam’s wreck of a room as he hugs the wall just beside the door and reaches for the knob, trying not to scratch the wall or the door with the tip of the knife since he’s not pulling out another hand to freeze the fuck off.

The door squeaks just a little as he turns the knob and eases it open, and he winces and slows his pulling. _Gotta oil that tomorrow_ , he thinks. _Getting pretty lazy around here lately._

There hasn’t been a single threat in the vicinity of the bunker for weeks now. At first they’d been glad for the relief as Sam recovered from his brush with whatever-the-hell happened in the church with Crowley and Dean explored every inch of the bunker while surreptitiously scanning hospital records and police reports for anything matching Cas’s description. Then Cas had just shown up at their door, filthy and bedraggled and dripping wet, and Dean’s focus had shifted to being the caretaker for both men. Now both are in a little more stable of health and Dean’s moved past being uneasy and fallen into a little more complacency than he’d have liked.

The door’s more than half-open now, and Dean takes a second to steel himself, then pushes through quickly, reaching out and elbow to pin the intruder to the wall and–

A pair of wide blue eyes stare back at him below tousled hair and a dark green blanket pulled up to the chin, and Dean loses focus for a moment, which is just long enough for Castiel to dodge the elbow and step back.

Dean’s off-balance with the sudden move and flails a little until Cas’s hand wraps around his bicep and steadies him.

“Cas,” he whispers when he’s upright again, “What’s up, dude? Go back to bed.”

Cas hesitates, pulling his arm back. His eyes flick to the side, then he sighs. “It’s too cold, Dean. I can’t sleep.”

“I know it’s a little cold, Cas, but we can get you more blankets or something, okay? You’re definitely not gonna warm up wandering the hallways like that.” Dean resolutely doesn’t look down at Cas’s bare feet, toes curling inwards against the freezing floorboards. There’s something ridiculous about Cas wrapping himself in a giant blanket but forgetting to put anything on his feet, and it makes Dean’s heart clench just a little. He sighs and meets Cas’s eyes again.

There’s something in them, something frustrated and overwhelmed and Dean suddenly realizes that as weird as this is for him, it must be a thousand times worse for the former angel. He’s never been cold, not really, before these last few weeks, and never like this.

Dean sighs again and turns, easing his door all the way open. “C’mon.” He gestures into his room with the hand still holding the knife.

Cas tilts his head, staring at Dean. “Come where?”

“Look, let’s not– we don’t talk about this, all right? Just come inside.” Cas still hesitates, eyes narrowed, and Dean glances upwards, closing his eyes and shaking his head before meeting Cas's eyes. “Please, just trust me on this, okay, Cas?”

Cas’s eyes soften and he nods, hesitantly stepping past Dean into the doorway. He looks around interestedly and Dean realizes that Cas hasn’t actually been in here yet; most of his time is spent in the library or out back in the garden and there’s been no real reason for him to come into anyone else’s bedroom. Cas’s eyes fall on the photo of Mary and he smiles, then turns to Dean. 

“Your room is very nice, Dean,” he says. “Thank you for letting me see it.”

He sounds so fucking sincere that Dean’s heart breaks a little more and he shuffles back to the bed and sits on the edge.

Cas steps forward again, then hesitates and meets Dean’s eyes. There’s a question in his gaze, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s not ready to answer if it’s asked aloud, but he holds Cas’s eyes for a few moments until the angel continues moving towards him and sits beside him tentatively.

They sit there in silence for a while, until Cas’s shivers are shaking the bed hard enough for Dean to feel and he sighs and swings his legs up and under the pile of blankets. He scoots over to the far side of the bed, wrapping his hand around Cas’s wrist and pulling. He's fed up with being freezing cold and, if he is forced to admit it, lonely. Neither of them are going to get any sleep tonight unless they can warm up, anyway, and he's too tired for the bullshit he usually uses to fight off getting too close to the other man.

Cas follows Dean’s tug and slides under the blanket as well, still shivering violently as Dean pulls the covers up to their chins. Cas is a long line of warmth beside him, just inches away, radiating it through the blankets despite his shivers. Dean feels his body relaxing and releasing the tension it’d been holding for the last few hours. Somehow all his fears and walls seem ridiculous in the face of that warmth and the trust Cas gives him, and it seems like the easiest thing in the world to roll over and nudge Cas’s shoulder until they’re pressed together, Dean’s arms around Cas’s waist and their legs slotted together. Cas lets him move the two of them into position, his shivering slowing as their combined warmth fills the pocket of air under the pile of quilts.

“That better?” asks Dean, mouth inches from Cas’s ear.

He feels Cas nod against him, his hair brushing Dean’s mouth. His shivers are easing slowly, no longer violently wracking his body. He rolls a little closer, almost an involuntary motion, snuggling closer to Dean and his warmth and Dean can’t help but smile at the fact that a being as old as Castiel is can still be so damn adorable.

“You gotta have more than one blanket in weather like this, Cas,” he whispers. “See how many I’ve got? That’s the way to go.”

Cas nods again, slower this time, and his hand drifts down from where it had been clenched tightly to his chest and brushes the back of Dean’s where it rests on Cas’s hip.

Now that they’re both warming up, fighting off the chill that’d been keeping them awake and desperate, Dean figures he should let go of Cas’s waist and move back a little, give the guy some space. But Cas is so warm against him, and moving feels like a lot of work. _Just a few minutes,_ he thinks as he breathes in the ozone and bread smell of Cas and lets his eyes drift closed. _I’ll move in just a few minutes._

\-----

The heat fixes itself overnight, and Sam wakes to a comfortable room and sunlight pouring in the windows high up in his wall. He stretches for a moment, enjoying not needing the blankets wrapped over his head, and scratches his belly, debating whether to get up or to go back to sleep. He dozes for a few moments, but the light’s too bright and his stomach is growling.

 _Maybe Dean will make pancakes,_ he thinks, sitting up and rolling his shoulders before reaching for his sweatpants and pulling them on. _I could go for some pancakes._

He stands, stumbling over the clothes and books strewn across the floor, and moves into the hallway, heading towards the kitchen, which he’s surprised to see is dark. Dean’s usually up long before he is, and he turns to glance down the hallway towards his brother’s room.

Dean’s door is open and Sam feels a little twinge of nervousness go through him as he heads back down the hallway, moving quietly just in case something’s wrong.

He sticks his head around the doorframe and freezes, mouth dropping open.

There’s his brother, all right, but he’s not alone.

There’s a second head poking out from the blankets, nestled close to Dean’s chest, Dean’s nose buried in the dark hair. Both are fast asleep, pressed together from neck to feet, three of which (Sam’s not sure whose) are poking out from the blanket and tangled together.

Sam thinks about his choices for a moment, still trying to process what he’s seeing, and that’s when Castiel shifts a little in his sleep, making a little noise that’s almost a whimper, and Dean nuzzles the angel’s neck, murmuring and tightening his arms, and Sam eases back, closing the door softly. 

All he can think as he walks towards the kitchen to start the coffee is _Finally._


End file.
